N'Importe Quoi
by WinterSky101
Summary: Enjolras, being an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, pushes himself too far and ends up getting sick. Grantaire, also being an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, decides to take care of him. Modern AU.
**I'd like to preface this by saying that all of my medical information came from the internet, so I'm uncertain of its veracity. I hope you can enjoy this fic anyway.**

 **This fic does reference Grantaire's problems with alcohol a few times, so if that would make you uncomfortable, proceed with caution. There is also a scene in which Enjolras vomits, if anyone has a problem with that. Joly's hypochondria is mentioned, but I did my best not to treat it as a joke. If anyone is offended by my treatment of his hypochondria, please tell me how I can correct it.**

 **The title is French for "anything."**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis.**

* * *

Enjolras never seemed to know how to take care of himself, whether it came to eating when he was hungry or sleeping when he was tired. Thus, it wasn't very surprising for Grantaire to enter Enjolras' room to find him asleep, with textbooks strewn about him and his laptop still open. Grantaire grinned as he took the textbooks and moved them from the bed to the floor. Honestly, he was used to this by now. He carefully pulled the laptop out from under Enjolras' tousled mop of blond curls. Somehow, Enjolras' hair always looked nice, even if he had just woken up. By contrast, Grantaire's own curly hair was always a mess.

As Grantaire pulled away the computer, his hand brushed against Enjolras' forehead. It was burning hot. Grantaire froze. He gently brushed the back of his hand against Enjolras' skin again. It was like a furnace.

That, he was not used to.

Grantaire put away the laptop and turned Enjolras over onto his back. Once he got a better look at him, he realized that he was sweaty and pale, his eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. There were deep purple bags under his eyes that spoke of many sleepless nights. Grantaire cursed Enjolras for being incapable of responding to his body's needs. He checked Enjolras' temperature one last time. It was just as hot the third time as it had been the past two.

Sighing, Grantaire pulled out his phone and fired off a quick text to Joly. As an art major, Grantaire was completely out of his element when it came to medicine, and he knew Combeferre wasn't done with classes yet. Joly's last class ended fairly early on Fridays, however, so it was he that Grantaire texted. _e is sick._ Within a minute, he got a response.

 _fever? vomiting? what?_

 _just found him asleep in his room w/ a fever,_ Grantaire replied. _idk if there's anything else._

 _do u have a thermometer?_ Joly asked. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at the very text.

 _not a med student,_ he replied. He could almost hear Joly sigh.

 _i'll be over in five._

Joly was as good as his word; almost exactly five minutes later, he arrived at Enjolras' dorm. Grantaire opened the door to find him standing on the other side with a mask over his mouth and gloves. Grantaire really wasn't surprised. He knew Joly was a hypochondriac - _everyone_ knew Joly was a hypochondriac - but every time Grantaire saw the evidence of it, he once again questioned why on earth Joly had decided to become a med student. Sometimes Grantaire thought it was just so Joly would know more about all of the diseases he was convinced he had.

"How is he?" Joly asked. Grantaire shrugged, stepping aside to let Joly enter the room. He immediately crossed the room to Enjolras, who had barely moved since Grantaire rolled him over.

"No idea. Again, I'm not a med student. I just know his forehead is damn hot and he looks like shit."

Joly checked Enjolras' temperature with a practiced motion. Despite the gloves and mask, he looked at ease and in his element. "Alright, it's 102°, so he's definitely got a fever, but it's not too bad. He doesn't need a hospital or anything, and he probably won't even need a doctor. But someone should look after him."

"I'll watch him," Grantaire offered. Joly frowned.

"Someone else could. I bet Combeferre would do it. Or Courfeyrac."

"They have their volunteer thing tomorrow," Grantaire replied. "And all the others are busy or out of town. I'll do it."

"I could do it," Joly offered. "I'm not busy." Despite the fact that Joly actually did seem to be a very good doctor (Grantaire was starting to think that med school actually _was_ the right career path for him), Grantaire didn't want to make him uncomfortable by pushing him to spend an extended period of time with a sick Enjolras.

"I thought you, Bossuet, and Musichetta had a date tomorrow," Grantaire countered. Joly shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable to be caught out.

"If Enjolras needs me, I'm sure they'll understand. Besides, weren't you going to go drinking with Bahorel tonight?"

"If Enjolras needs me, I'm sure he'll understand," Grantaire parroted. Joly sighed.

"I guess I walked into that one."

"Really, Joly. I'm fine. Go have fun on your date tomorrow and I'll deal with Apollo." Joly sighed and gave Grantaire a small bag.

"Here's a spare thermometer that I want back when you're done with it. And after you've disinfected it. If anything changes for the worse, call me. Actually, just keep me updated on everything."

"Will do. Have fun on your date." Joly's cheeks flushed a pale pink as he stepped out. Once he was gone, Grantaire turned back to Enjolras.

"So it's just you and me now, Apollo." Enjolras' only response was a low groan. Grantaire sighed.

"Typical."

* * *

About an hour later, Enjolras awoke. Grantaire looked up from his absentminded doodling in his sketchbook when he heard rustling from the bed, and he set the book aside when Enjolras' eyes flickered open.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras asked blearily as he looked over, lifting his head. Grantaire frowned slightly. Enjolras spoke the name with an abnormally heavy French accent, one Grantaire hadn't heard often or recently.

"Um…"

" _Pourquoi es-tu ici?_ " _(Why are you here?)_ Enjolras asked. The French threw Grantaire for a moment, but only a moment; he was French himself, after all, and he did speak the language fluently. He assumed the delirium from the fever was what was causing Enjolras to revert to his first language.

" _Je suis ici parce que-_ " _(I'm here because-)_ Grantaire stopped abruptly as Enjolras made a face.

"Oh," he said with a look of discomfort. " _Je pense que je suis malade. Je n'aime pas ça._ " _(I think I'm sick. I don't like it.)_

Grantaire chuckled at that. " _Personne n'aime ça,_ " _(No one likes it,)_ he replied. Enjolras yawned in response.

" _Je veux dormir._ " _(I want to sleep.)_

 _"Vas-y,"_ _(Go ahead,)_ Grantaire replied. " _Si tu veux, tu peux dormir._ " _(If you want, you can sleep.)_

" _Ne me quitte pas, s'il te plait?_ " _(Don't leave me, please?)_ Enjolras asked, in a voice that was so small and pleading it made Grantaire's heart twinge. It also made him wonder who this was and what they had done with Enjolras, considering he couldn't imagine the Enjolras he knew ever talking like that.

" _Quoi?_ " _(What?)_

" _Reste ici,_ " _(Stay here,)_ Enjolras requested. " _Seras-tu ici quand je me réveillerai?_ " _(Will you be here when I wake up?)_

" _Oui,_ " _(Yes,)_ Grantaire replied after a short pause. " _Je resterai ici._ " _(I'll stay here.)_

" _Tu es un bon ami,_ " _(You're a good friend,)_ Enjolras replied, his eyelids already drifting shut. " _Merci de faire ça pour moi, Grantaire._ " _(Thank you for doing this for me, Grantaire.)_

" _Je ferais n'importe quoi pour toi, Enjolras,_ " _(I would do anything for you, Enjolras,)_ Grantaire replied, but by the time he said it, Enjolras was already asleep again. Grantaire sighed.

Well, he supposed, Joly had told him to keep him updated on everything.

 _e woke up,_ Grantaire texted. _we talked in french._

 _in french?_ Joly texted back immediately. _why?_

 _ask e,_ Grantaire replied. _he woke up and started asking me questions in french. but he was coherent. mostly._

 _check his temp,_ Joly suggested. Grantaire pulled out the thermometer and stuck it in Enjolras' mouth. A moment later, it beeped.

 _still 102,_ he told Joly. _i'll text you again if anything changes, k?_

 _k,_ Joly replied. Grantaire set his phone aside and picked up his sketchbook again, flipping to a new page. He had been working on hands before. Enjolras' hands, to be precise. But now, the look on Enjolras' face was so young and innocent that Grantaire's fingers itched to capture it with graphite. He was a bit of an expert on drawing Enjolras at that point, so it didn't take Grantaire long to get the basics of his face down. But unlike many of the other drawings, sketches, and paintings that Grantaire had done before, this one wouldn't feature Enjolras with an angry furrow in his brow and his eyes alight with revolutionary fervor. This one would capture a vulnerable Enjolras, the way he looked when he wasn't desperately trying to change the world for the better. It wasn't a look Grantaire saw often. He was determined to sketch it while he had the opportunity.

Grantaire was just finishing up the sketch - which was definitely a keeper and would potentially become the reference for a later painting - when his phone buzzed. He picked it up to see another text from Joly. _should we tell the others?_ it read. Grantaire sighed, thinking about the question.

Morally, yes, they should tell the others. They were Enjolras' friends as well, some of them (i.e. Courfeyrac and Combeferre) for much longer than either Grantaire or Joly. They deserved to know. On the other hand, Grantaire was almost certain that Enjolras would prefer to keep it secret, not wanting to worry the others or show a side of him that was more human than what anyone normally saw.

 _idk. what do u think?_ Grantaire texted back, so as to get Joly's opinion on the matter.

 _they'd want to know,_ Joly replied. Grantaire waited for a moment, sensing there was more coming. _but idk if e would want them to know._

 _i don't think we should tell courf and ferre,_ Grantaire suggested. _they have their thing tomorrow and if we tell them they'll want to stay with e._

 _they're his emergency contacts,_ Joly replied. _if he ends up in the hospital, they'll find out._ That didn't make Grantaire feel any better about the situation. God, what if Enjolras got so bad he really had to go to the hospital?

Then again, this was coming from Joly, so it was almost definitely a worst-case scenario.

 _idk if the others need to know,_ Grantaire texted. _i'll ask e when he wakes up._ That took the decision out of Grantaire and Joly's hands and would make it Enjolras' fault if the others were mad that they didn't know.

 _sounds good,_ Joly texted back. _remember to update me._

 _will do,_ Grantaire replied before setting his phone aside again. Enjolras' expression had changed during the conversation with Joly. Grantaire was glad he had captured the previous innocence and youth when he had had the chance. Enjolras' brow had furrowed and his mouth had turned down into a frown. Grantaire stuck the thermometer in his mouth again, which Enjolras didn't seem to like too much (even in sleep, he was a stubborn bastard), but Grantaire got the reading in the end. Still 102°. Grantaire hoped it would start going down soon.

Enjolras' eyes drifted open, hazy with sleep and fever. "Grantaire?" he asked. Grantaire got an odd sense of déjà vu, but this time Enjolras said his name normally, without a heavy accent.

"Are we gonna talk in French again?" Grantaire asked, flipping his sketchbook closed. Enjolras groaned.

"So that conversation really _did_ happen?" he asked, not sounding very happy about it. Grantaire nodded.

"Don't leave me!" he moaned overdramatically in a (fairly accurate) impression of Enjolras. His cheeks bright red, Enjolras buried his face in his pillow.

"I'm sick," he said, his voice muffled. "Aren't you not supposed to make fun of sick people?"

"Eh, I'm not one for rules," Grantaire replied. Enjolras looked up and seemed as if he were about to respond when his face turned a shade of green that Grantaire didn't think he had ever seen as a skin tone before. He knew what it meant, though.

"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?" he asked. Enjolras shook his head, his lips pressed firmly together. Cursing, Grantaire grabbed the trash can and stuffed it into Enjolras' hands, just in time. Enjolras' whole body convulsed as he retched, Grantaire rubbing his back soothingly. Despite the violent retching, almost nothing came up, just lots of bile.

"When did you last eat?" Grantaire asked, a thought occurring to him as Enjolras, sweaty and pale, finally lay back against his pillows. Enjolras shrugged.

"Not sure," he replied, his voice croaky and hoarse. Grantaire groaned.

"I need to get some food in you." Pulling out his phone, Grantaire began to send a text to Joly.

"Who are you texting?" Enjolras asked, his voice hoarse and pathetic. Grantaire got him a glass of water with one hand while still texting with the other.

"Joly," he told Enjolras absentmindedly, hitting the send button. _e just tried to throw up,_ his text read. _"tried" being the operative word b/c he has no food in him to puke._

"Joly knows I'm sick?" Enjolras asked, struggling into an upright position. Grantaire set the water and phone down and helped him up. His skin was still hot to the touch. "Does anyone else know?"

"Not yet," Grantaire replied. "Joly and I were wondering whether to tell them or not."

"Don't," Enjolras replied immediately. Grantaire smiled a little as he handed Enjolras the glass of water.

"I thought you'd say that."

Grantaire's phone buzzed with a response from Joly. _when did he last eat?_ it read.

 _the idiot doesn't remember,_ Grantaire replied. _so probably not for a while._

 _get him to eat,_ Joly told him. _soup would be best._ A moment later, he added, _i can't believe u use words like operative in texts._

 _shut up,_ Grantaire replied. _also e says we shouldn't tell the others he's sick._

 _of course he does,_ Joly replied, and the sigh came across perfectly.

"What does Joly say?" Enjolras asked, trying to read the texts over Grantaire's shoulder.

"He says you need to eat," Grantaire replied. "He suggests soup. I don't suppose you have any." Enjolras' slightly embarrassed expression said it all. Grantaire sighed. "Of course not. I guess I'll ask Joly to bring some over."

"There's no need to put him through that trouble," Enjolras protested. Grantaire ignored him.

"I'd get it myself, but I'm supposed to be watching you." Quickly, Grantaire fired off a text to Joly, asking him to bring over soup because Enjolras had no food in his dorm room at all. Joly answered that he would be there in a few minutes.

"Thank you for helping me," Enjolras told Grantaire softly. It was so soft, in fact, that at first Grantaire thought he had imagined it.

"What?" he asked, setting his phone aside. Enjolras hadn't just _thanked_ him, had he?

"I said thank you," Enjolras repeated, confirming the fact that this fever was definitely messing with his head. "I'm sure you have better things to do on a Friday night."

"It's okay," Grantaire replied, still feeling the whole situation was a bit surreal. "I didn't have any plans." That wasn't strictly true, as Grantaire had been planning to go out for drinks with Bahorel, but the two of them did that all the time and Grantaire could cancel without any trouble.

"I really am thankful," Enjolras reiterated. Grantaire shrugged.

"It's fine, Apollo."

Enjolras chuckled bitterly at the nickname. "I doubt I look much like a god now," he replied. Grantaire studied him for a moment, taking in the purple bags under Enjolras' eyes and the sweat-soaked skin and the bright spots of fever on his cheeks.

"Nope, not really," he replied honestly. "You look a lot more human than I've ever seen you. I kinda like it."

"You like seeing me sick?" Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire sighed.

"Don't twist my words. You know perfectly well that's not what I meant. What I mean is that it's kinda nice to have proof that you actually are mortal. You're not some sort of divine being, you're just…Enjolras."

"Tell Jehan to move over," Enjolras replied dryly. "We've found a new poet."

"Oh, shut up," Grantaire replied, turning away so Enjolras wouldn't see him blush. He hated that Enjolras could provoke that reaction when no one else could. Grantaire hardly ever blushed, but when Enjolras was involved, it took him no effort at all to cause the blood to rush to Grantaire's cheeks. It was irritating, to say the least.

Enjolras began to fade again after that, his eyes drifting shut for longer and longer before he would jerk them open again. Grantaire was fairly certain he would be asleep before Joly showed up. He was right. Enjolras' eyes shut completely barely a minute before Joly knocked on the door.

"He's asleep again," Grantaire said in lieu of a greeting. Joly was wearing the gloves and mask again, but his hands were cradling a thermos full of soup rather than the medical supplies from before.

"How's his fever?" Joly asked. Grantaire shrugged.

"Still 102, last I checked. He was pretty lucid while we talked. I think some of the passing out is just exhaustion. You know our Apollo. He's convinced that sleep is for the weak."

"He's an idiot, that's what he is," Joly grumbled fondly. He handed Grantaire the soup. "You need to make sure to take care of yourself as well. Wash your hands and use hand sanitizer and-"

"I know, I need to try not to get sick. I get it. But I swear to God, Joly, if you try to get me to wear a mask like yours…"

"I won't," Joly promised, although Grantaire had the feeling it would have been pushed if he hadn't shut the idea down before Joly could even mention it. "I have to leave. Bossuet and 'Chetta will be getting home soon. You're sure you're okay watching Enjolras?"

"It's not a problem, I promise," Grantaire replied. Joly smiled slightly as he left, closing the door behind him. Grantaire set the soup down on the table. He would feed it to Enjolras the next time he awoke, no matter what it took to get him to eat.

Checking the time, Grantaire realized he had to tell Bahorel he wasn't going to be drinking with him, considering they were suppose to meet in fifteen minutes. He pulled out his phone, electing to text rather than call. It would give him more time to formulate his responses, as Enjolras had forbidden him to tell the others of his condition.

 _can't make it to hang out tonight,_ Grantaire texted, hoping against hope that would be the end of it. It wasn't.

 _:( why not?_ Bahorel asked. Grantaire thought for a moment.

 _art project,_ he replied, deciding it was best to have some truth in his lie. _i thought it was due next fri but it's really due on mon._ The art project did exist, and it was really due on Monday. But Grantaire had always known it was due on Monday, and it was almost completely done.

 _that sux,_ Bahorel replied. _i'll just go w/o u. maybe i'll drag feuilly w/ me._

 _sorry,_ Grantaire apologized again. Damn Enjolras for making him lie about this. He didn't mind staying with him and missing his meet-up with Bahorel, but having to lie about it didn't feel right.

 _no prob,_ Bahorel replied. _maybe next fri._

 _sounds good,_ Grantaire replied. He set aside his phone and turned his attention back to Enjolras. With nothing else to do, Grantaire took Enjolras' temperature again. It was unchanged. Grantaire was a bit worried. According to the internet, a fever of 102 wasn't too dangerous unless it went on for a few days without changing. Obviously, a few hours weren't long enough to make that sort of call. Grantaire just hoped the fever would go down soon.

Grantaire's stomach rumbled abruptly, reminding him that he had barely eaten all day. Unfortunately, as had already been established, Enjolras' dorm room had no food in it. Grantaire searched and found a single protein bar, which he figured would do in a pinch. There was the soup Joly had brought over, but that was for Enjolras. Grantaire refused to eat any of it, no matter how hungry he got.

Well, unless he got _really_ hungry. Then he might reconsider it. But it took a long time for Grantaire to consider himself really hungry. All he had eaten that day was a croissant for breakfast and an apple for lunch. His plan for after classes had been simple - pop over to Enjolras' dorm room, go back to his apartment, and find something eat before he and Bahorel went out drinking. Going over to Enjolras' wasn't supposed to take long. The only reason Grantaire had gone over was that he had forgotten his hoodie at the Musian at the last meeting. Enjolras had picked it up for him and told him he could come get it. The meeting had been on Wednesday, but Thursday was Grantaire's busiest day of the week, as he worked his longest hours at the art museum that day. Friday after class had seemed a good time to pick up his hoodie. And if Enjolras weren't incapable of taking care of himself, it wouldn't have been a problem.

Grantaire's stomach rumbled again, reminding him that blaming Enjolras for getting sick didn't make him any less hungry. To shut his stomach up, Grantaire ate the protein bar, which tasted horrible but was surprisingly filling. Temporarily sated, Grantaire took a moment to consider the food situation. After the soup was finished, they'd need something else to eat, and Grantaire felt bad about harassing Joly about everything. Enjolras' room was clearly a bust, and Grantaire's apartment was ten minutes away. Normally, Grantaire would juts ask someone in Enjolras' dorm building for food (especially since he knew Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who were a few doors down, always had a well-stocked kitchen), but Enjolras had forbidden him to tell anyone he was sick.

Then again, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were volunteering the next day, and Enjolras probably had a key to their room, considering he and Combeferre had been friends practically since they were in diapers and were basically platonic husbands. Grantaire didn't really _want_ to steal from his friends, but if that was what it took, that was what it took.

Damn Enjolras for being so stubborn. If Grantaire could just _tell_ the others, they'd all pitch in and help and this wouldn't be a problem. But Grantaire knew Joly had his own things to do, and no one else was allowed to know. Which meant, depending on how Enjolras' condition changed, stealing from Combeferre and Courfeyrac could be the only option.

Enjolras mumbled something in his sleep. Grantaire immediately stopped everything and tried to discern what exactly Enjolras was saying, but it seemed to be a mélange of French, English, and a bit of what sounded vaguely like Russian (where Enjolras had learned that, Grantaire had no idea), and the words were said in such a low, slurred voice that trying to understand them was hopeless. Grantaire went back to his seat next to Enjolras' bed and started sketching again. This time he sketched Enjolras' hand again, lying limply on the sheet. He was so intent on his drawing that he didn't notice that Enjolras was awake until he spoke.

"What are you drawing?"

"What?" Grantaire's eyes shot from Enjolras' hand to his face. "Nothing," he replied quickly, shutting his sketchbook. Enjolras arched an eyebrow. "What were you saying before?" Grantaire asked, desperate to get attention off of his sketchbook.

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "When was I talking?"

"While you were sleeping. You were talking in English, French, and something else that sounded like Russian."

"It was probably Polish," Enjolras replied, his cheeks a bit pink. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do you speak Polish?"

"I don't, not really," Enjolras replied. "But do you remember the time Feuilly was drunk and started singing the Polish National Anthem?" Grantaire chuckled as he nodded. Getting Feuilly drunk enough to wax poetic about Poland was always fun. "Well, I thought the language sounded interesting, so I asked Feuilly to teach me a bit of Polish. He was thrilled and taught me some basic phrases. And a few pick-up lines, but those were entirely unnecessary." Grantaire had to laugh at that.

"You never know," he replied, although the thought of Enjolras using pick-up lines on someone made his stomach clench in an odd way that wasn't connected to his residual hunger. Grantaire's phone buzzed, breaking the conversation. He checked it to see a text from Joly.

 _how's e? still same temp?_

"Who's that?" Enjolras asked, craning his neck to try and read the text. Grantaire turned the phone to show him.

"Joly. Do you mind if I take your temperature now, so he doesn't flip out on me?"

"Be my guest," Enjolras replied dryly. Grantaire grabbed the thermometer. "But since when do you have a thermometer?"

"It's not mine," Grantaire explained. "Joly loaned it to me. I need to give it back after you're better. And after I disinfect it." Enjolras rolled his eyes and grabbed the thermometer from Grantaire, stuffing it in his own mouth. Grantaire chuckled slightly and shook his head, because _of course_ Enjolras would be that sort of person and insist on checking his own temperature. Somehow, he managed not to look ridiculous with the thermometer sticking out of his mouth. When it beeped, Grantaire grabbed it before Enjolras could, much to his dismay. The reading was 100.7°.

"100.7," Grantaire told Enjolras, before he could even ask. "It's better than before. Since Joly first took your temperature a couple hours ago, you've been at 102." As he spoke, Grantaire sent Joly a quick text: _temp went down. 100.7 now._

 _good,_ Joly texted back. _has he eaten yet?_

 _gonna give him the soup rn,_ Grantaire replied. He grabbed the thermos of soup. "This is from Joly and you're gonna eat it," he told Enjolras, grabbing a bowl - why the hell did Enjolras have bowls if he had nothing to eat from them? - and pouring some of the soup in it. "You need to eat."

Enjolras, being the stubborn idiot he was, tried to get out of bed and walk over to the table with all of his usual speed and grace. He almost dropped to the ground as soon as he stood. Grantaire lunged for him, setting down the soup, and caught him right before he hit the ground.

"Whoa! You okay?"

"Just a head rush," Enjolras replied faintly. Grantaire frowned. "I'm alright. Just a little dizzy now."

"That would be from the whole not-eating thing," Grantaire scolded, bringing Enjolras over to the table. "Sit and have some soup."

"What about you?" Enjolras asked, sitting down in front of the soup. "I know I don't have any food in my room-"

"No kidding," Grantaire muttered quietly.

"-And it's around dinner time, so you must be hungry."

"I'm fine," Grantaire replied. He was hungry, but he wasn't about to make this about him. His stomach decided to betray him, however, as it rumbled loudly. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"Fine?" he repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Grantaire scowled. "Sit down and eat."

"You don't have anything, like you said," Grantaire replied. Enjolras gestured at the soup.

"Have some of this."

"It's yours," Grantaire replied automatically. Enjolras sighed.

"We'll share. Have some." His face had the look that meant he was ready to fight to the death over something. It was the look he normally got when Marius mentioned anything that was even slightly fiscally conservative. (Really, after the first couple of times, you'd think he'd have learned his lesson, wouldn't you?) The expression was slightly frightening. Grantaire knew there was no point in arguing with Enjolras, even though he was normally the first in line.

Also, he was _really_ hungry.

"Alright," he relented. Enjolras looked a little surprised at the lack of argument, but he dropped the topic and began to eat. Grantaire poured a little of the soup into a second bowl and started eating himself. It was good, not that it really mattered; Grantaire would have eaten anything. Enjolras finished his quickly, obviously hungry from his self-imposed starvation (the _idiot_ ). Grantaire stopped him when he reached for the thermos, though.

"Give it a bit," he warned. "Your stomach was desperately trying to throw up a couple hours ago. Wait to make sure you can hold the soup down before you eat more." Enjolras didn't look pleased, but he leaned back in the chair, ceding the point. It seemed both of them were being surprisingly un-argumentative.

Grantaire was proven right when Enjolras' face went pale a few minutes later. "Are you going to throw up?" Grantaire asked, ready to grab the trash can. Enjolras shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so," he replied slowly. "But I don't think I should eat any more just yet." Grantaire drew on everything in him not to say "I told you so."

It wasn't enough.

"Told you so," Grantaire said casually. Enjolras shot him a dirty look. Grantaire grinned angelically as he put their bowls to the side.

"So what were you drawing when I woke up?" Enjolras asked. Grantaire swore internally. He had hoped Enjolras had forgotten about that.

"A picture," he replied vaguely. Enjolras gave him a look of fake surprise.

"Really?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I was hoping for more details."

"It's personal," Grantaire retorted defensively. Enjolras didn't push it. They sat in amiable silence for the next few moments. The thought occurred to Grantaire that this was probably the longest they'd talked without getting in some sort of argument. Enjolras must have been thinking that as well, as he voiced the thought. Grantaire shrugged.

"We haven't talked about politics yet," he replied. Personally, he thought the fever was helping in making Enjolras less bitter than usual, although the lack of politics certainly wasn't hurting matters. That was where they always divided, after all. No matter how passionate Enjolras was, Grantaire was too much a cynic to believe that they could really change anything. After all, people had been trying to change things like this since the dawn of government. If they couldn't do it, how would a group of college students? Saying that would inevitably get Enjolras started on a rant about how much progress had been made, but that they weren't done yet. Grantaire had listened to the rant so often he could probably give it himself.

Grantaire would never admit it, of course, but he liked not arguing with Enjolras. Of course, he liked arguing with him as well. Both of them enjoyed it, as long as they respected the unspoken boundaries. But spending time with Enjolras without fighting was nice. Peaceful. It felt closer, more intimate.

Grantaire was so whipped.

"What can we talk about that won't get us into an argument?" Enjolras asked. Grantaire shrugged.

"Our studies?" he suggested. Enjolras shrugged.

"Alright. How are your classes going?"

"They're fine," Grantaire replied, feeling a certain sense of disbelief. "My sculpture teacher is horrible, though."

"Why?" Enjolras asked. He sounded honestly interested. Grantaire shrugged.

"Why is anyone horrible? I don't know. She finds fault with everything I do and never misses an opportunity to lecture me. She does that for everyone in the class, really. She made a kid cry a few days ago, she yelled at him so much. Took ages for him to get calmed down."

"How do you know?" Enjolras asked curiously.

"I was the one comforting him," Grantaire replied. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"You?"

"Yeah, me," Grantaire replied, a little stung at the surprise in Enjolras' voice. Apparently, Enjolras could tell.

"I'm sorry." The two words were so uncommon that Grantaire wished he had a video recorder to preserve them for posterity. "I didn't mean to offend you," Enjolras added. It was just getting more and more surreal. "It's just…you're normally so bitter and cynical. I guess I just didn't think of you as the comforting type."

"Oh, I'm a totally bitter cynic," Grantaire replied, smirking. "But that doesn't make me a sociopath or something. I'm still gonna comfort someone if they're crying."

"Of course," Enjolras replied, looking a little flustered. Grantaire grinned.

"You've never been on the receiving end of one of my hugs before, but ask any of the others. They're pretty damn awesome." If this were a rom-com, Enjolras would shyly ask if he could be on the receiving end of one of Grantaire's hugs, and they would embrace tightly and Enjolras would fall in love and they'd kiss and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, it was real life, and no such thing happened.

"I'll take your word for it," Enjolras replied dryly. Even though Grantaire knew he'd say something like that (actually, he'd been expecting something far more caustic), his heart still sank. Regardless, he wasn't going to directly offer to give Enjolras a hug, so he figured there was nothing he could do.

"So we've talked about my classes. What about yours?" Grantaire asked. "How's pre-law?"

"It's lots of work, but I enjoy it," Enjolras replied. "One of my teachers, Professor Lamarque, is just brilliant. It's a good thing that I don't have a class directly after his, because I end up staying late half the time and talking with him. He's the sort of teacher that inspires people to learn." Grantaire smiled slightly as Enjolras continued to sing his professor's praises. His fingers itched for a pencil and his sketchbook. The look of fervor on Enjolras' face was something he'd drawn many times, but something he'd never get tired of sketching. He could picture it in his mind. In a few lines, he'd have the basic shape of Enjolras' face. His hair was falling onto his forehead, his eyes were wide and bright, his mouth open-

"I'm boring you, aren't I?" Enjolras asked suddenly, dragging Grantaire from his thoughts. Grantaire blinked rapidly.

"No! Not at all," he replied automatically. "Keep talking about Professor Lamarque. It's very interesting."

"I stopped talking about Lamarque a minute or so ago," Enjolras replied, one eyebrow arched. "I've been talking about my psychology teacher since then."

"Oh," Grantaire replied shyly. Enjolras' lip twitched into a tiny smile.

"It's fine. Let's talk about something that interests both of us."

"But not politics," Grantaire added. Enjolras shook his head.

"Not politics," he agreed. "How about art?"

"Since when are you interested in art?" Grantaire asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras shot a furtive glance at Grantaire's sketchbook. "I swear to God, if this is about the picture I was drawing when you woke up…" Grantaire began in a threatening voice.

"Could you show me another picture, then?" Enjolras requested, almost sounding shy. "If that one is personal?"

Grantaire was stunned. That hadn't been what he was expecting. "Um, sure," he replied, picking up his sketchbook. He began to flip through it, looking for a picture that wasn't of Enjolras. He found a quick sketch he had done of Éponine and held it out.

"This is lovely," Enjolras said softly, looking at the picture. Grantaire shifted in his seat slightly.

"It's Éponine," he told Enjolras needlessly. Enjolras smiled slightly.

"I can tell."

"Oh," Grantaire replied, unsure of what else to say. He was saved from having to come up with a response when his phone buzzed. He had received a text from Bahorel, with a picture of a tall girl with blonde, curly hair. _looks lik ur type,_ the text read. A moment later, another one appeared. _u shud be here._ Grantaire sighed. He could tell by the mild typos that Bahorel was a little past tipsy. Texting back would do no good; instead, Grantaire stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

"Who was that?" Enjolras asked.

"Just Bahorel being an idiot," Grantaire replied smoothly.

"Don't you normally go drinking with Bahorel on Fridays?" Enjolras asked, eyes narrowing slightly. Grantaire nodded.

"Yeah. It was canceled."

"Did you cancel because of me?" Enjolras asked. Grantaire suddenly realized where he had gone wrong. _Shit._

"No," he replied, hoping his lie wasn't too obvious. "We canceled yesterday. Bahorel had this other bar he wanted to check out that I didn't want to go to, so he went with Feuilly instead." Enjolras still looked suspicious. "Look, Apollo, not everything in my life revolves around you." Total lie (sadly), but hopefully Enjolras would buy it. No one else would, but Enjolras had been oblivious for years. Chances were he wouldn't pick it up at that moment.

"I'm not saying it does," Enjolras replied, looking a bit embarrassed. "I just wouldn't want you to cancel any plans for me." Grantaire just shrugged. Thankfully, Enjolras accepted it.

"How are you feeling?" Grantaire asked a moment later, dispelling the awkward silence that had fallen.

"Fine," Enjolras replied. His voice was a bit terse. Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "I don't like being treated like an invalid," Enjolras added, his voice still stiff. Grantaire sighed.

"Apollo. You had a fever that was over three degrees above normal. You forgot when you last ate. Joly and I are pretty sure all of your passing out had less to do with the fever and more to do with the fact that you've worked yourself to exhaustion, which is probably why you got sick in the first place. You're not taking care of yourself. If you did, I wouldn't have to do it for you." By the end of Grantaire's lecture, Enjolras' cheeks were flushed a pale pink that had nothing to do with his fever.

"You're almost as good as Combeferre with that," he mumbled. Grantaire chuckled.

"I try."

The silence was broken as Enjolras' phone buzzed. Frowning slightly, he picked it up to see a new text message.

"It's from Courfeyrac," he told Grantaire, who raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't his dorm like three doors down?"

"Four," he corrected absentmindedly, opening the text. "He's asking me if I want to go with him and Combeferre tomorrow."

"Where are they even volunteering?" Grantaire asked curiously.

"An animal shelter," Enjolras replied, already tapping out his reply. "The two of them like to volunteer whenever they can, and the soup kitchen they normally volunteer at was closed a month ago. Courfeyrac found out about this shelter and convinced Combeferre to volunteer there with him. It really didn't take all that much convincing."

"So why aren't you going with them?" Grantaire asked. He had always wondered that. Considering the three of them were so close, it seemed strange that Enjolras wouldn't accompany his friends when they volunteered.

"Courfeyrac and Combeferre do this together. I've never gone along because I don't want to intrude," Enjolras replied. "One of them asks if I want to come with them every time, but it's just a token invitation. I never accept and I don't think they would really want me to."

Grantaire wasn't sure he completely agreed with that - Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were so close that he couldn't imagine two of them _not_ wanting the other - but he didn't argue. "Well, I guess it's a good thing that the dorm has a strict no-pets policy," was all he said. Enjolras frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Can you imagine Courf in an animal shelter? He'd want to adopt all of them. And 'Ferre wouldn't be able to say no." Grantaire grinned. "I can see it now. Courfeyrac, completely _covered_ in cats and dogs, begging Combeferre to let him bring just one home." Enjolras smiled slightly.

"Combeferre used to have a cat," he told Grantaire. "Her name was Bastet." Grantaire chuckled at that; Combeferre _would_ name his cat after the Egyptian cat goddess. "She was tiny and light brown. I don't remember what type of cat. But Courfeyrac was always her favorite of the three of us. I think it was because he snuck her catnip."

"I always liked animals," Grantaire offered. "But my parents never let me get a pet."

"After Combeferre got Bastet, I wanted a cat of my own," Enjolras admitted. "I wanted to name him Derrida." Grantaire burst out laughing at that. Enjolras frowned. "It makes sense!" he protested.

"How old were you?" Grantaire asked.

"I must have been around ten. Why?"

"Only you would know about Derrida and his naked cat thing at ten years old," Grantaire sighed. Enjolras glared, probably about to educate Grantaire on the finer aspects of Derrida's philosophy. "Why didn't you get a cat?" Grantaire asked to avoid an argument.

"My mother is allergic," Enjolras replied. "So I just spent the majority of my time at Combeferre's and played with Bastet instead." Grantaire could imagine little Enjolras, around ten years old, playing with a little brown cat. His fingers itched for a pencil to draw it, but he just cemented the image in his mind so he could draw it later.

"Why aren't you rooming with Combeferre this year?" Grantaire asked, while they were on the subject. Enjolras shrugged.

"A variety of reasons. We're almost dangerously codependent, for one. And I'm not a very good roommate." Grantaire almost protested, then he realized that Enjolras was probably right, and he kept his mouth shut. "And it's probably healthier for Combeferre to room with Courfeyrac anyway. This way, he has someone to remind him to sleep occasionally."

"I think you need the same thing," Grantaire replied with a slight smirk. Enjolras gave him a dirty look. "Should I take up the job?" Grantaire added. "I can send you good-night texts every night so you remember that sleep is a thing that people have to do. What about texts to remind you to eat? Do you need those too?"

"Combeferre tries his hardest to make sure I eat," Enjolras replied stiffly. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't seem to work too well. Maybe we can make this our next cause for Les Amis. We can all team up to make sure you eat occasionally."

Enjolras glared, and Grantaire realized they were arguing for the first time since Grantaire had come over to take care of Enjolras. While the familiar pattern was a tiny bit comforting - and how screwed up was that? - Grantaire also found himself missing the amicable way he and Enjolras had been before. Suddenly unwilling to continue the argument, Grantaire said nothing else.

Grantaire's phone buzzed, altering him to another text from Joly. _how's e?_ he asked. A second later, another text came in. _what's his temp?_

"Joly wants an update," Grantaire told Enjolras, grabbing the thermometer. Enjolras put it in his own mouth again, pulling it out when it beeped.

"It's 99.8," he told Grantaire. Grantaire nodded and relayed the information to Joly.

 _that's good,_ Joly replied. _his fever is going down really fast._

"Does that mean my life can go back to normal tomorrow?" Enjolras asked, reading the text as Grantaire received it. Grantaire texted the question to Joly.

 _he should take it easy tmrw,_ Joly replied. _the fever could come back if he doesn't. but he should be normal by sun._

"Joly says you should take it easy tomorrow," Grantaire said. Enjolras made a face. "That means you need to sleep and eat. I'll stay here and baby-sit you again if I have to."

"Well, that certainly gives me incentive to get well quickly," Enjolras replied dryly. He seemed to mean it as a joke, but it made Grantaire's heart give a pang anyway. A bitter retort was at the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself; it wasn't Enjolras' fault that Grantaire took things too personally. A slightly awkward silence descended instead. Enjolras broke it.

"Could I see another one of your sketches?" he asked, his voice almost - dare Grantaire say it? - shy. The request was unexpected but not unwanted, so Grantaire grabbed his sketchbook and flipped ahead to a sketch of Combeferre. Even through the picture, he seemed to exude calm. The contrast was even more evident considering the sketch of Courfeyrac below it, which was a mess of energy.

"You're very good," Enjolras complimented, looking at the pictures. "I just wish you wouldn't waste your talent."

"Excuse me?" Grantaire demanded, feeling as if Enjolras had struck him.

"Your drinking," Enjolras elaborated, still looking at the pictures. "I'm sure you could do so much more if you could stay sober." Grantaire's hands were shaking. "Perhaps if you stopped drinking, you could get an art commission and do something with your talent."

"Screw you," Grantaire hissed. Enjolras looked up at him for the first time, seeming surprised. Grantaire ignored him, grabbed his sketchbook, and stormed out of the dorm room, slamming the door behind him. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone, and it took three tries to tap Joly's contact. His shaking fingers couldn't formulate a text, so he called instead.

"I can't deal with him anymore," Grantaire said the second Joly picked up.

 _"What happened?"_ Joly asked immediately. Grantaire leaned against the wall, sinking down until he was sitting next to Enjolras' door.

"He started lecturing me about drinking. We were getting along and then the bastard had to bring it up." Grantaire stopped talking before he could add anything else he would regret.

 _"Oh, R,"_ Joly replied with a sympathetic sigh. Everyone knew Grantaire's drinking was a touchy subject. Everyone except Enjolras, apparently. _Either he doesn't know or he doesn't care,_ Grantaire thought bitterly. They both seemed equally viable options.

 _"Where are you right now?"_ Joly asked.

"Outside Enjolras' room," Grantaire replied. "I can go back in. It's not that big a deal."

" _Give me a minute,"_ Joly replied, hanging up the phone. Grantaire was suddenly worried of what was going to happen, but he waited dutifully for a minute. Almost to the second, Joly texted him a minute later. _go on in._

Grantaire entered the dorm room with no small amount of trepidation. Enjolras was still sitting at the table, a slight frown on his face.

"Joly told me I needed to apologize."

"Oh, God," Grantaire groaned. Enjolras' frown deepened.

"I'm sorry, I suppose. I'm not quite sure what upset you so much, but I'm sorry something did." Grantaire wanted to laugh, scream, or cry. He didn't do any of them.

"It's not a problem, Apollo," he replied. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. He knew it was Joly checking in on him, and he had no desire to talk to him. There was a high chance that Grantaire would end up yelling at Joly (through texts, but still) and say something he would regret. He just couldn't believe that Joly would go behind his back to tell Enjolras to apologize. Grantaire couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

"I was thinking I would go to sleep," Enjolras added after a moment of awkward silence. "You can leave if you want."

"I'm staying until your temperature is back to normal. I promised Joly I would." The second part wasn't strictly true, but the first part was. Enjolras shrugged and went over to his bed. He curled up under his covers and was asleep almost instantly. Grantaire waited for a few minutes before flipping to an empty page in his sketchbook and quickly drawing the sketch of young Enjolras playing with a kitten. Almost instantly, he knew that it would become a painting. Perhaps he could title it _Innocence_ or something like that. He thought the name suited it.

Joly kept texting the entire time Grantaire drew the picture. He switched over to calling for a little while, but Grantaire ignored the calls as well. He didn't answer until he had completely finished the drawing. He picked up the call just in time; it was about to go to voicemail.

 _"Goddamn it, Grantaire, answer your goddamn phone!"_ Joly swore loudly. Grantaire's eyes widened. Joly didn't swear often.

"I'm here. What's wrong?"

 _"Are you okay?"_ Joly demanded. _"Because I told you to go back into Enjolras' room and I told him to apologize but I wasn't sure if he did it or if you went in or if you did something really stupid and-"_

"I'm alright, Joly," Grantaire interrupted, immediately feeling terrible. "I didn't mean to worry you."

 _"I'm fine,"_ Joly replied. _"Are you?"_

"Yeah," Grantaire replied. "Enjolras apologized and everything. He didn't understand what he did wrong, but he apologized anyway. I think he's still trying to make up for last week's meeting." Enjolras and Grantaire's screaming match at that meeting had been louder and harsher than usual, continuing until Grantaire stormed out of the Musain and promptly went bar-hopping to try and dull the pain.

 _"As well he should,"_ Joly replied bitterly. _"You're not mad that I told Enjolras to apologize, are you? Because I didn't mean to betray your privacy or anything. I just thought Enjolras should apologize, and he wouldn't even know he had to if no one told him."_

"I'm not mad," Grantaire promised. He could hear voices in the background and smiled slightly. "Sounds like you're being called."

 _"Text me if you need anything,"_ Joly replied. _"Anything at all. Talk to you later."_ Joly hung up and Grantaire did as well, guilt still present in his gut.

He went to his missed texts and saw that, unlike his assumption, not all of them were from Joly. About half were from Bossuet, which only made Grantaire feel worse. It had to have been bad for Bossuet to have been texting him about it. Sure enough, the texts from Bossuet were all asking Grantaire to please answer Joly because he was getting close to panicking, and Joly was insisting that he had done something wrong but whatever it was, Grantaire had to at least let Joly know he was okay or Joly would have a full-blown panic attack. Grantaire sent an enormously contrite text back to Bossuet in apology. He kept it pretty general, considering he wasn't allowed to tell him that Enjolras was sick, but it was enough to tell Bossuet that it wasn't Joly's fault, he was okay, and he was incredibly sorry that he had worried Joly that much. There was also one text from Musichetta, angrily demanding that Grantaire answer his goddamn phone or she would go over and make him. Grantaire answered that as well, saying he was sorry he took so long to answer, but everything was alright and coming over was not necessary.

The responses chimed in almost instantly, with Bossuet's saying he was pleased that nothing was wrong and Musichetta's clearly delineating what would happen to Grantaire if he ever pulled a stunt like that again. Her angry threats were really no more than Grantaire deserved, and he sent another guilty text to Joly telling him that he hadn't known that he'd been that worried, and that he was really sorry, and that it wasn't Joly's fault at all and he wasn't mad. Joly's only response was a smiley face, which Grantaire took to mean he was forgiven.

With nothing better to do, Grantaire flipped to a new page in his sketchbook and started drawing Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. He figured he could make a quick sketch of the three of them, then he could make a more high-quality picture and give it to them as an apology. Normally, the best way to apologize to Joly was to give him hand sanitizers (especially the scented ones; he loved those), but to apologize to Musichetta and Bossuet as well, Grantaire needed more. He hoped they would appreciate a sketch.

Just as Grantaire finished his rough sketch, Enjolras blearily began to wake up. "Your sleeping schedule is going to be completely screwed up," Grantaire commented. Enjolras groaned.

"It always is," he replied. He took the thermometer that Grantaire held out without comment and put it in his own mouth.

"It's 98.7," he told Grantaire. "Is that close enough to normal temperature for you?"

"That desperate to get rid of me?" Grantaire replied, a little less humor in his tone than there was supposed to be. "I'll check in with Joly," he added before Enjolras could reply.

"He'll probably want you to wait for me to go down the last tenth of a degree," Enjolras muttered. Grantaire rolled his eyes as he sent the text.

 _e's temp is 98.7,_ he told him. _can i leave him alone?_

Joly's response took a little while. Enjolras was clearly impatient. "Has he responded yet?" he demanded after a minute. Grantaire sighed.

"No. He's probably in the middle of some hot threesome sex with Bossuet and Musichetta." Enjolras' face went an interesting shade of red that made Grantaire laugh. It was at that moment that Joly did text back.

 _u can leave if u want,_ Joly had replied. _but if u want to stay, tell e that i think u should stay to make sure the fever doesn't come back._

 _is that a legitimate concern?_ Grantaire texted, a little worried.

 _in theory, but e can probably take care of himself at this point,_ Joly replied a moment later. _and srsly r, just say legit._

 _i'll tell e to text one of us if his fever returns. and i'll leave him the thermometer so he can take his own temp,_ Grantaire replied, ignoring the last part of the text. He looked up at Enjolras, who had a strange expression on his face that Grantaire couldn't quite place.

"Joly says I can leave. But I'm leaving you the thermometer, and if you start feeling at all off, you should take your temperature. The fever could come back if you don't take care of yourself."

"Alright," Enjolras replied. Grantaire grabbed his sketchbook and went to the door. "Wait!" Enjolras called as he was about to leave. Grantaire turned to see that he was holding out his hoodie. "Don't forget this."

"Right." Grantaire took the hoodie and stepped out of the room.

"And thank you," Enjolras added. Grantaire smiled slightly, glad he was facing away.

"No problem, Apollo." Grantaire stepped fully out and Enjolras closed the door behind him. Ignoring the fact that Joly would probably freak out if he knew, Grantaire buried his face in the hoodie the second he knew he was out of view.

If he tried hard enough, he thought he could still smell Enjolras on it.

* * *

 **To readers who are fluent in French: If any of my French was inaccurate, I apologize. I studied French through middle and high school, but I am far from perfect. If anyone wishes to suggest any corrections, that would be appreciated.**


End file.
